


summer sun, something's begun

by likebrightness



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, POV Lexa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2016-05-21
Packaged: 2018-06-09 18:12:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6917806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likebrightness/pseuds/likebrightness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Octavia is on the soccer team with her and Anya, and they’ve met each other’s friends on the sidelines after games, but Lexa doesn’t remember any of their names except Clarke.</p>
            </blockquote>





	summer sun, something's begun

**Author's Note:**

> @steeltraintouch prompted: the first time Lexa sees Clarke in a bikini. say hi on tumblr [@likebrightness](http://likebrightness.tumblr.com).

Lincoln suggests a “chill beach day” and then invites half the school. Anya cusses at him but shows up anyway. It’s pretty much what always happens when they let Lincoln plan anything.

Lexa carries their towels and bags while Anya lugs the cooler of beer into the sand. Alcohol isn’t allowed on the beach, but they’ve had enough parties here to know as long as they don’t get too rowdy, they’ll be fine. There’s not that many other people around to disturb; it’s too cold for anyone who didn’t grow up around the water to swim.

For most anyone, anyway. Lincoln invited Octavia, who strips into her bikini and dives in the water before her friends are even settled. Lincoln rushes to join her. Lexa is more interested in her friends. Octavia is on the soccer team with her and Anya, and they’ve met each other’s friends on the sidelines after games, but Lexa doesn’t remember any of their names except Clarke.

Clarke. She’s so beautiful sometimes Lexa thinks she shouldn’t look directly at her.

Clarke says hello, though, so Lexa has to look at her and her little half-smile. Lexa tries to smile back, not too big, just a friendly hello, and the way Anya snorts next to her makes her think she didn’t quite pull it off. She shoves Anya off the cooler so she can get a beer from inside.

Clarke is in short black shorts and a tank top, and there is a lot of skin. Lexa definitely shouldn’t look directly at her.

Octavia shouts at her friends from the water. Something about being “fucking lame” for not swimming yet.

Lexa takes a sip of her beer right as Clarke pulls her shirt over her head.

She chokes on the beer.

As though the shorts and tank top weren’t enough, Clarke has on a bikini, string tied between her breasts. There is _a lot_ of skin.

Lexa turns away quickly. Anya’s smirk is wide enough she might as well be cackling as she pats Lexa on the back.

“You okay there, you huge fucking gay?”

“Anya,” Lexa hisses, but Clarke is already running for the water, and it doesn’t look like any of her friends have heard. Lexa glares at Anya anyway. She doesn’t wonder what Clarke must look like from the front when she’s running, doesn’t wonder how her boobs even stay in her suit. They mostly _weren’t_ in the suit, really. Lexa takes a gulp of her beer.

-

Lexa spends most of the day avoiding Clarke. Clarke is so pretty, and there is _so. much. skin._  and Lexa doesn’t want to embarrass herself. Or embarrass Clarke with the open-mouthed ogling Anya seems to think she should do.

“I can’t _look_ ,” Lexa insists, just on the other side of tipsy. “I don’t want to embody the male gaze.”

Anya probably rolls her eyes—Lexa doesn’t actually see, too focused on the edge of her towel.

“You can’t embody the male gaze. You are not male.”

“You know what I mean, Anya,” Lexa says. “She doesn’t need me staring at her just because of her choice of bathing suit.”

“Pretty sure you don’t wear a bathing suit like that if you don’t want someone staring.”

Lexa snaps her head up to look at Anya. “That’s exactly the problem I’m talking about! You can’t decide you know how she feels based on her clothing!”

Lexa sees Anya roll her eyes this time. “Well, you definitely don’t wear a bathing suit like that and keep glancing at a specific someone while you’re wearing it if you’re not hoping they’ll look.”

“She’s looking over here?” Lexa’s whispering now. "I'm the specific someone?"

Anya sighs. “Jesus, you are hopeless.” She stands. “Your girl’s not, though, thank god. Good luck.”

Anya leaves, and before Lexa can ask what she means, she sees Clarke walking toward her.

“Hey.”

“Hello, Clarke.”

Lexa is very proud of herself for not taking her eyes off of Clarke’s face.

“I’m doing a piece about the beach,” Clarke says. “Want to help me find cool shells and rocks and sea glass and stuff?”

“I’d love to,” Lexa says before she has even figured out that Clarke means a piece for class, because she’s an art major.

Lexa is very glad Anya is not nearby to make fun of just how lame she is.

She’s ready to comb through the sand on her hands and knees, but Clarke ambles down the beach.

“We can just walk,” she says. “If we see anything pretty we can pick it up.”

Lexa swallows, considers it, and then says, “Should I pick you up, then?”

Clarke ducks her head and smiles. Lexa thinks maybe she’s not as hopeless as Anya says.

-

She and Clarke walk a good mile away from the rest of the group, don’t turn around until they reach the edge of the state park. Clarke’s still just in her bikini, doesn’t have any place to carry their findings, so Lexa keeps them in the pockets of her board shorts. They clink quietly together with every step. Lexa looks at their feet, mostly. She allows herself the view of Clarke’s legs to avoid looking at her chest.

By the time they get back to the rest of the group, Lincoln has burgers on old public charcoal grills. Clarke drifts back to her friends—Octavia and a girl Lexa thinks is named after a bird of some kind laugh at her as she rejoins them. Lexa eats next to Anya, who says nothing, loudly.

Lexa drinks some more, because Clarke’s trinkets are in her pocket and Clarke is still in a bikini, is _cold_ in a bikini now that the sun is setting, and Lexa tries to pretend she doesn’t notice that obvious fact, and she does that by drinking.

Anya says, “Someone’s thirsty,” and Lexa knows she means it in more ways than one, and Lexa hates her.

-

“Clarke,” Lexa says once the sun has dropped fully below the horizon and the bonfire has been lit. She’s one drink past being able to stop herself from staring at Clarke’s chest, the curves spilling out of her suit and her nipples, hard and visible through the fabric.

Clarke walks over, sits in the sand next to her, wrapping her arms around herself.

“Want to make s’mores?” Clarke asks.

“Once there are some coals,” Lexa says. “The fire has to be just right.”

“Of course,” Clarke says, and Lexa thinks she might be making fun of her, but she doesn’t mind.

Lexa leans a little, presses her shoulder against Clarke’s. She swears Clarke actually shivers when their skin touches.

They sit together and watch the fire. Clarke’s body does these little shakes that make Lexa think maybe Clarke is as affected by her as she is by Clarke. Except her body _keeps_ shaking, until eventually Lexa figures it out.

She leans in to ask, “Are you cold, Clarke?”

“I’m freezing,” Clarke says, rubbing up and down her own arms.  

Lexa reaches blindly and finds her bag in the dark. She pulls out her sweatshirt and presses it into Clarke’s hands.

“Oh my god, thank you.”

Clarke pulls it on, and Lexa likes Clarke in her clothes almost as much as she likes Clarke in a bikini.

“I guess I should have worn something with a bit more coverage,” Clarke says.

“No,” Lexa says immediately. “I, uh, I should’ve offered my sweatshirt earlier. Your suit—your outfit—it’s nice.”

“Yeah?” Clarke grins. She buries her bare feet in the sand. “I hoped you’d like it.”

Lexa swallows. She looks at Clarke. Her eyes are so dark they don’t even look blue in the firelight.

And then a marshmallow hits Clarke in the middle of the forehead.

And another hits Lexa in the chin.

Across the fire, Anya and one of Clarke’s friends high five.

“What the hell, Raven?” Clarke says.

Lexa knew it was a bird.

“Thought you might want to make s’mores instead of just staring at each other.”

Clarke slides a smile toward Lexa. “Is the fire just right yet?”

“It is, actually.”

Lexa coaches Clarke in how to make the perfect s’more. Clarke pays no attention, ends up with marshmallow sticky on her fingers, smeared across one cheek. Lexa tries to help clean up.

Kissing counts as helping, she thinks, licking the taste of marshmallow out of Clarke’s mouth.


End file.
